


The Broken Vows

by Minirose96



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, F/M, Lies, Plot of Murder, Romance, Secrets, Some of those characters listed might be the same, family bonds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-15 08:56:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minirose96/pseuds/Minirose96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What is she, Sherlock?"</p><p>"A lying, traitorous, disgusting woman who married me with the intention of murdering me with her equally reprehensible brother."</p><p>The woman took in a sharp breath. John glared at the stubborn man before him.</p><p>"No, you arse. What is she?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

"Take a seat."

Sherlock glared. "I don't see why this is necessary. She needs to leave, not make herself comfortable."

The woman in question looked down and away. "Can I please just go?"

"No." "Yes."

John and Sherlock exchanged equally annoyed looks.

"She's staying, Sherlock. She's staying because you made me go through this and now it's your turn." The doctor said resolutely.

"I don't need to hear what she has to say. I already know everything I need to make a sound decision."

"No, you don't. What is she?"

"The woman who needs to get out of my flat."

"Can I -"

"No, you can't." John said, turning to her and giving her a patient smile, one she didn't feel she deserved, before he turned back to the glaring consulting detective. "What is she, Sherlock?"

"A lying, traitorous, disgusting woman who married me with the intention of murdering me with her equally reprehensible brother."

The woman took in a sharp breath. John glared at the stubborn man before him.

"No, you arse.  _W_ _hat is she?"_

Sherlock ground his teeth together. "Fine. Take a seat, woman. Start from the beginning, and do hurry so you can leave faster."

She slowly moved past both men, head still down, and took the seat. It was an uncomfortable chair, but she didn't complain. She wanted nothing more than to run. She didn't want to be under their gazes. She didn't want to see John's kind face twisted with mistrust. She didn't want to see Sherlock's hate and scorn. She loved him so much.

She cleared her throat. "Why do I have to sit here? Can I please... not?"

"No. You sit there, because that's where the people who need help sit. That's where Sherlock makes the clients sit while we hear their stories and he decides whether we take you or not. You're a client right now. You tell us your story, and he decides."

"I've already decided."

"Shut up Sherlock. And sit down. Your pacing is starting to piss me off."

Sherlock glared, but took his seat. He knew the irony of this scene. This was something he'd forced on John a scant few years ago now. Forced him to go through it with Mary. He never in his musings thought he would be forced into this position. Not with his wife. Not for this reason. After all, it's not every day you discover the woman you married had been planning for nearly a decade to murder you after forcing you to become human and admit to human failings. He should have known better, should have seen through her disguise. He glowered at her, the look full of contempt.

She looked down at her hands, folded meekly in her lap. "Where should I start?"

"The beginning, obviously." Sherlock said, sneering. "The day we first met. This plan was been in place at least that long, obviously."

She nodded slowly. "All right."

Molly straightened her back, and began to tell her tale.


	2. A Plan Unfolding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was A LOT of interest for this story, both here and on FF.Net, so thank you so much you guys <3 I hope I don't disappoint!

"Jim, why do I have to do this?" Margret Anne Moriarty whined to her brother, James Richard Moriarty as she prepared for her first day at her new job, working as a pathologist in the morgue at Saint Bartholomew's Hospital. It wasn't the job that upset her, but the reason she was taking it. She loved working with the dead - it had always been a morbid fascination, ever since she helped Jimmy with his first murder. Even big brothers needed help sometimes.

No, it definitely wasn't the job itself that had the twenty - nine year old whining softly like a child. It was the role she and Jim had decided on, the role that had been over a decade in the making, ever since they saw that teenage boy trying to solve Jimmy's first murder. They had both known he would be a threat to Jim's later plans. Molly would always protect her big brother, just like he protected her. Carl Powers wasn't as nice a lad as everyone thought. She once had bruises to prove it too, but Jimmy had taken care of him for her.

She had somewhat hoped that Sherlock would die of an overdose, once she and Jim learned he was in rehab a few years back. But alas, he had lived, and that meant their plan was still in action.

She turned to her brother, who was giving her an appreciative eye. Well, more like judging her choice in clothing.

"Really Margret, isn't the cherry print a bit much?" He asked, tutting.

She glared. "Isn't playing the love sick fool for the most asinine person on the face of the earth a bit much, James?" She shot back, hands on her hips.

Her glare only made her brother laugh. He came over and gently patted the top of her head, just like he used to when they were little. "That's exactly why we have to play this little game. He doesn't like feeling anything. He's such a bad man. Wouldn't it be fun to see him slowly crumble before finally admitting he can feel? And then, of course, when he's finally broken down, we'll break his heart. Well, you will, my dear." He kissed her cheek softly.

She smiled. Right. That was the plan. She'd been watching him with her brother as Jimmy built up his crime organization. And Sherlock had begun slowly picking at it from the start, even if he didn't realize it yet. He was a thorn in their side, right from the start. And he had the gall to claim to be a sociopath. Margret rolled her eyes at the thought. He really was an imbecile.

She nodded. "All right. Promise you'll pick me up from work at least?" She asked, purposely pulling the sweetest expression she could. Even though they were adults, she knew the perfect way to wrap her big brother around her little finger. Which was why she was surprised when he shook his head no.

"I'm sorry Margret, but you've got to remember your background now. We can't risk being seen together yet," he reminded her sternly, even as sh e began to pout. "Don't worry, one day everyone will know of the last two Moriarty's, and how they brought London to it's knees."

That thought cheered her up. "All right." She was grinning again.

James cocked his brow. "Just to be sure, why don't you tell me who you are now?"

She sighed. "All right. I'm Molly Anne Hooper. I live alone except for my cat, Toby. My dad is dead from cancer and my mum and I are estranged. I don't have any siblings. I'm new to Bart's, and to London, but I come with good recommendations." Bits and pieces of the story were true. Her father had died of cancer several years ago. her mum though - she'd never really been in the picture at all. The only part of that that was the unedited truth was that she came with good recommendations. Her professors in Uni were astounded by her aptitude for pathology. If they only knew.

She looked down at the Identification card currently pinned to her jumper. Molly Anne Hooper. She had legally changed her name to that three years ago, but until now it hadn't meant much. She was still Little Margret to Jimmy. Now would be a real test, with her new name and identity. She was looking forward to tricking the supposedly great Sherlock Holmes.

"Jim grinned. "Perfect Margret. Now, off you pop. Can't be late on your first day."

She sighed. "All right Jimmy. Just make sure my flat's ready for me." She kissed his cheek and left.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"I thought I said start at the beginning, not at you and your brother's demented discussion beforehand."

Molly looked down, twisting her hands together. "I'm sorr-"

"Molly, just continue. Sherlock, shut up." John said, cutting off her apology.

The consulting detective glared momentarily at his friend. "This is a waste of time. She just said herself, she's been planning to kill me since Carl Powers."

"I haven't wanted to kill you in several years, Sherlock." She muttered, closing her eyes. As if that helped anything.

The silence was stark between them.

John cleared his throat. "Carry on, Molly."

"Margret."

"Shut up, Sherlock." John hissed.

Molly sighed. Once, she had been proud of her birth name. Now, it only brought disgust. Still, she swallowed, and continued.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Margret -  _Whoops, I need to remember now, it's Molly -_ had been working for four hours alone in the morgue before the doors slammed open. Despite herself, she jumped, and for just a second her hand went to her hip, where, up until today, a small firearm would have been expertly hidden for those sticky situations a girl could get into. Now, it looked as though she were gripping her stomach against a fright, which worked well, considering who entered.

She widened her eyes as Sherlock entered, followed closely by her new boss. It was the moment of truth. Would her disguise last?

Sherlock gave her barely a passing glance. It was her boss who introduced them. She forced her eyes to go wide, her voice to fluctuate in that way that girl's voices tend to when they're overwhelmed. In truth, she was a bit overwhelmed.

She'd seen him in pictures and far away, but nothing could have prepared her for the depth and intelligence in his eyes. And damn if he didn't have the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen on a man. Pictures really did not do him justice.

She held out her hand. "H-hello," she put the stammer in her voice, "I'm Molly. I just started today. I.. I hear you do cases. Is that what you're doing now?" She asked. As if she didn't know he was working on one of her brother's jobs now. She could have rolled her eyes. As pretty as he was, he was still an ass. He didn't even shake her hand, like a polite man would. He just kind of looked at it and dismissed it as unimportant before turning away.

Her boss wasn't much help. He just shrugged hopelessly, wished her luck, and left. Useless man. She'd ask Jimmy. She frowned. No, she couldn't ask him to clean up this mess. She had to deal with this part of the plan herself. She couldn't just start asking her brother to get rid of annoying co-workers. Even if it would make Bart's a better facility overall.

So, she stuttered and stumbled her way through a greeting, and when Sherlock dismissed her, she went back to the body she'd been working on, making sure to throw in the perfect amount of dejection. A few glances at him out of the corner of her eye, all of which she was sure he caught and took as puppy love yearning, and it was gold. She could practically see his mental cogs turning, and deeming her malleable to his whims in the future. It really was too easy.

She completed the autopsy and pealed off her gloved as she looked at the clock. Five minutes until her shift ended.

She glanced once more at Sherlock. He was busy messing around with some slides, which  _she_  would no doubt be left to clean up. Obnoxious man. She walked over, and glanced over his shoulder.

"Oh, um, excuse me," she said, more stuttering and stumbling over the simplest of words.

Sherlock sighed dramatically, and lifted his head. "Yes?"

"It's just, my shift's ending, so I have to, umm..." She swallowed, fiddled with her fingers, bit her lip gently, all signs of nervousness and attraction. Playing the game. "I have to lock up, you see, so you... you really should be going... please."

And then he pulled the most interesting look, as if he was playing his own game. He probably was. It was equal parts sadness, curiosity, interest, and sweetness. "You have a nice smile." And he flashed one of his own.

She felt a very real rush of blood to her cheeks.  _What bloody game is this man playing?_

And then, with his next statement, it hit her.

"I'll only be a bit longer. Couldn't you wait to leave?"

Her mask almost slipped then and there. The sneaky bastard was flirting to get what he wanted!

Instead, she looked down and away, pursed her lips as if in thought, glanced back towards his smile, and nodded. "I suppose so." she said softly.

They ended up staying another three hours, even though she was bored and ignored, he got to finish his experiments. He left in a flurry of movement, saying how he had to contact Lestrade. He's solved her brother's case.

On her way home - well, to Molly Hooper's home. Her home was with Jimmy - she cursed Sherlock name.


	3. A Study in Trickery

"Skip ahead."

Both John and Molly gave Sherlock odd looks.

Sherlock didn't bother returning either of them. "I remember those years well enough without you recalling every thought you had of killing me. Skip ahead." He repeated. He refused to look at her.

"No, Sherlock. You've got to hear it all." John said, frowning.

Molly shook her head. "No, he really doesn't, John. Please... I've done a lot of horrid things. I've killed in cold blood, I've covered up murders and hired assassins and set up heists. I... was a very different person in the past. And I'd rather skip ahead, like he asked... it's really more of the same." She smiled without any humor. The expression was cold and ironic.

"I wanted Sherlock dead. I hoped, each time Jim came up with a scheme, that it would be the one to end Sherlock. I will never deny that. But I don't want to dredge up every individual case and thought that made me think that way. So please... can I just skip ahead?" By the end of her words, Molly's voice had go soft, quiet and meek and almost begging.

John looked at her strangely. Well, no, it wasn't strange. He was just seeing her more clearly now. He was getting a clear view on the real Molly Hooper. And she could tell, he wasn't exactly thrilled with the view.

Sherlock gave no response to any of her words. In the end, John nodded. "All right." He swallowed. "Where to now then?"

"To you, I think... After all, you're what changed things." She replied.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Jim, this is pointless! We've been at this for years, and I'm still little more than his bloody servant. If I have to make one more bloody cup of coffee, I'll -"

"Relax Margret. Everything's falling into place. You'll see." Jim assured, smoothing his sister's hair to the side in a familiar comforting gesture. Margret sighed softly.

This had become a regular conversation, during the siblings' monthly meeting. Each meeting was in a new place, to stop patterns from forming. This one was in a small restaurant, in a private booth. They kept their voices low.

"Please Jimmy, I'm tired. I hate this - I miss my name. No one even knows my name, except you, because you got rid of the documents stating it. Now, I'm just boring old Molly Anne Hooper, and I have been for years, and I'm just... tired." She knew she was repeating herself, whining more than usual, but everything was so... so bloody difficult. The plan wasn't working.

Jim shushed her. "You'll always be Margret. You'll always be a Moriarty. No matter what a few slips of paper say."

Margret smiled softly. At least he knew her name. And he was right anyway - Nothing would stop her from being a Moriarty. It was in her blood.

"Can we please just kill him? I heard he wants to get involved in Hope's case. Lestrade will cave eventually. Please Jimmy, can we let Hope try to finish things for us?" Margret asked.

Jim gave her an appraising look. She pulled the puppy dog eyes, sweet and kind and innocent. Of course, he knew the truth,but that didn't stop him from nodding.

"All right Margret. I'll let Hope have his fun."

She smiled. "Thank you Jimmy.

As one, they stood. They embraced, and he kissed the top of her head. It was time to part again, for the time being.

"Next month, eighteen, Sunset Reviera, seven. All right?"

Margret nodded. It seemed like a jumbled praise, but it was their way of setting up the next meeting. Parts of it were obvious. Next month, self explanatory. Eighteen - the day of the month. Sunset Reviera - the location. Seven - the time.

"I'll see you then."

They left together. He actually walked her to her car. Jimmy really was quite the gentleman, for the right woman. Margret smiled. Or the right sister.

He opened the door for her, and she slid inside. He stepped aside as she pulled out. Always so protective of her, he watched her until the car was out of sight.

The drive home was a short one, and soon she was shutting the door to her flat. Her cat, which she had grown exceptionally fond of, came to greet her. She bent down to scratch his head affectionately before setting her purse aside. She refilled his food bowl and was promptly ignored while he ate.

Oh, how she loved the affectionate little furball. Still, there was a sense of sadness.

She knew, here, in this flat, she was Molly Hooper again. The lovesick woman with no spine to speak of, and a dreadful taste in furnishings. Everything in this flat was fake. The decor, light, frivolous colors and patterns, were too childish for her more intricate tastes, but it was all about keeping up the facade. She could never turn Molly Hooper off.

Some days, if only for a moment, she forgot which part was real, and which was the illusion.

Oh, how she missed her name.

She kept a journal now, with all the information of her real life in it, so that if she ever lost sight of it, she could read that and regain herself.

Now felt like one of those days, where she needed to pour over the pages, and remember Margret Anne Moriarty.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Do you still have it?" Sherlock interrupted her rather suddenly.

She frowned for a moment. The mere fact that he was speaking directly to her surprised her. "It?"

"Don't be daft, woman. The journal you just spoke of."

"Sherlock!" John scolded. He ignored him.

Molly looked down at her lap. "Yeah... I still have it." Even if he was speaking to her, he couldn't even call her her name. Molly. Molly Anne Holmes.

"Go get it."

John watched her walk to the book case by the wall. She pulled out the only copy of the bible - she had brought it with her when she moved in, and had shelved it there, hidden in plain sight. It wasn't hard to take out the pages and make it a blank slate for her. She wasn't a religious woman. Defacing the bible was nothing compared to her other sins.

She walked back to Sherlock and held it out to him.

She swallowed. "Please don't read it Sherlock. Please."

John and Sherlock exchanged a look. They both recognized the parallels.

"Why not?" He asked quietly. He still refused to looked at her, standing in front of him so forlornly.

"Because... you'll hate me even more than you already do."

There was a heavy silence.

"Sit down. Skip ahead - enough of your family meetings and such. Why is John important?"

"Because he opened your heart." Molly replied, taking her seat once more. She noticed that Sherlock hadn't said he wouldn't read it. She wished she had burned the damn thing long ago. That would have been the smart thing to do.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"What happened to the lipstick?"

Margret could have groaned. Of course  _he_ would be the one to question her choice of make up and then ask where it went.

Instead of groaning, however, and calling him a stuck up prat like he was, she went for what Molly would do.

She swallowed, allowing the blood to rush noticeably to her cheeks as she replied. "It wasn't working for me."

He couldn't even be bothered to look at her as he responded, the coffee she'd made him in his hands. "really? I thought it was a big improvement - mouth's too small now."

Molly felt the tiniest tick in her eye. She never used to have a tick. Until him.

Bastard.

"Oh-kay." She let out the soft reply, and turned to leave.

It was the first time she noticed the other man in the room - a huge slip up on her part. She'd never seen him before. War veteran, limp - not real -, ah, so he'd found a flatmate. She recalled him talking with Mike about needing one.

She left the room quickly. Jim might find this interesting, even if it was too soon for their meeting again, since their last one had just been a couple nights ago.

She went to the loo and locked herself in before fishing out her cellphone - a special one, actually. Untraceable. There was only one phone number in it.

The dial tone rang only once before Jimmy picked up. Of course, names weren't allowed.

"He's gotten a flatmate." She said simply.

"And?"

She frowned slightly. "Well, that's not like him."

"Who's the flatmate?"

Molly proceeded to tell him everything she could about the man. Sadly, though she was observant, she was not on Sherlock or her brother's level of deductive abilities. In the end, she knew her description fell a bit flat.

Still, Jimmy hummed. "All right, he might be an interesting tool later. Very good. Goodbye, little one."

She smiled. "Goodbye, big one."

The call ended, and she was stuck with nothing to do. With all postmortems done, and Sherlock done with experiments for the day, she could relax.

And then her timer beeped. She dug in her purse for her other cellphone, the public one, and groaned. She had to get back to the lab and text Sherlock the results of the bruising in less than two minutes.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Were the results you did text me accurate?" Again, a sudden interruption.

Molly sighed softly. "Yes, they were. I would never alter evidence. You might have caught on had I done so. I'm not stupid, Sherlock. You know that by now, if nothing else."

The tension was palpable.

"Skip. Ahead."

Molly arched her brow. "Did you ever figure it out?" She asked softly.

Finally, Sherlock glanced at her, from the corner of his eye. "Figure what out?"

"Which was the good pill?"

Sherlock frowned. "You were listening. The entire time."

She smiled softly, but there was no pleasure in the expressed. "Jim and I had front row seats, via a tiny camera in the corner. You didn't notice."

"You know which one it was."

She nodded. "Hope really was a brilliant man. His children are well off now. Each millionaires overnight."

"Did I get it right?"

John just glanced between the two, at a loss for words.

Molly shook her head. "No, Sherlock, you didn't. If you had taken the pill, you would be dead. You should thank John - he really did save your life that day."

"The one closest to me was the good pill then?" he clarified.

She shook her head again. "No. Neither was a good pill. That was the trick, Sherlock. The only way to win the game was what you did originally - ask for the gun."

He was frowning. "Explain."

"Both pills were laced with the poison. But, given time, you could build an immunity to the poison. Jim and I found Hope rather quickly after he was diagnosed. We offered him a choice. He accepted. The game was all his idea. Jim was really impressed with him. So was I, at the time."

"We."

She frowned.

"You said we. 'We offered him a choice.' You arranged the deal with Hope, money for murders."

She nodded. "I had a part in it, yes."

"Moriarty. He wasn't referring to your brother when he gave me that name."

"You catch on quickly." She said, looking down again. "Yes, Sherlock. I arranged that particular deal. He knew me by my birth name. Jim and I were so pissed, when he shouted it to you before dying. He's a lucky man - had he not died then, Jim would have made him suffer greatly for his little slip."

She didn't sound the least bit regretful in that fact, something that left John, at least, with a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"You may not believe me, Sherlock, but Jim was an excellent brother. He loved me, and took care of me after our father died when I was sixteen. He claimed custody of me, and watched over me. He was already in the major workings of his criminal career at the time. He didn't need to saddle himself with a teenager, but he did. He raised me even before that. Our mother left us, and Father was often away for business. It usually was just the two of us anyway."

"So, it's his fault that you're a manipulative, murderess then?"

Molly sighed. "No, Sherlock, that's just me. He may have raised me, but I always knew our view on the world was skewed. I did was I did to stay with my family. Family is the most important thing there is."

Another heavy silence.

"The case John named The Blind Baker. What was your part in that?"


	4. The Blind Detective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone reading this!
> 
> I wanted to give a elated shout out to Mollymatters on Tumblr. She made a gif set for this story on Tumblr, which is absolutely amazing! Check it out!
> 
> http://mollymatterrs.tumblr.com/post/80768470865/sherlock-au-inspired-by-the-broken-vows-by

Molly smiled without humor. "Who do you think was willing to pay nine million pounds for a tiny hairpin?"

For the first time since sitting - or sprawling, to be more accurate - down, Sherlock sat up, back stiff. His eyes were narrowed as he stared at her. She almost wished he'd look away.

She did, looking down at her lap, doing her best to sit still.

"Not me, exactly. Jim wanted to give it to me. He thought it would suit me, and I... thought it would be funny."

"How could owning a smuggled trinket be 'funny?'" Sherlock asked stonily.

"I thought it would be funny to own something you were looking for. To wear it every day as you struggled to find the last clue. We knew you'd get involved eventually." She snapped, raising her gaze - more of a glare now - to meet his. "I wanted it because everyday you came in, you used me, and as soon as you got what you wanted you ignored me, and I thought it would be  _funny_ to wear it right under your nose, because I am a horrible, spiteful person!"

Just as suddenly as it had started, she stopped, deflating visibly. Her glare disappeared, replaced with a sad gleam. "Is that what you want to hear, Sherlock? Some proof that I'm a heartless, horrid woman? Some key phrase that will make it okay to hate me?" she asked quietly.

The brokenhearted tension in the room was back with a vengeance. Sherlock didn't respond to her questions. His eyes, however, widened slightly as he took in the fact that what she had said previously was entirely a farce. A believable one as well.

John had watched the exchange in silence, but he cleared his throat now.

The tension diffused slightly as both Sherlock and Molly looked towards him.

"Molly, why don't you... explain things more fully?"

She nodded slowly. "Sure John, I can do that."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Margret, I have a surprise for you!" Jimmy said, looking all too pleased with himself.

It took her a second to realize that he was talking to her. When she only heard her name once a month, it was so hard to remember sometimes. Molly was just so ingrained into her mind now.

She smiled softly at her brother. "Oh? What did you get me?" She asked, trying to display some enthusiasm. It was another month, another meeting at another stupid restaurant that she'd never step foot in again.

Jimmy didn't seem to mind or notice her lack of a genuine smile. No doubt he was setting it to one of her moods, which had become more common recently, though they had cropped up occasionally before everything else began. "Well," he said, dragging out the 'e', "I don't have it yet, but it's coming in with the Black Lotus' next delivery."

She arched her brow, recognizing the name as one of her brother's more successful jobs, one that, according to him, would hit public - and Sherlock's - notice before long. "So," she began, leaning slightly over the table, curious now, "What is it?"

He grinned widely, definitely more than a little pleased with himself. "A jade hairpin fit for an empress, my dear Margret."

She blinked. With anyone else, she knew that it would have just been a turn of phrase. With Jim... she wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't nick an empress's hairpin for her. And if it came from the Black Lotus, it was a real artifact, and it was expensive.

"Jimmy, you shouldn't have! I couldn't possibly wear it, not if the authorities are looking for it."

Jim waved her words away. "Really, I wouldn't put you in that kind of danger. No one will be looking for it, I promise. Besides, it suits you perfectly, and it's only a trifle."

Again, she arched her brow. a trifle. "Jimmy..."

He stood, cutting off her words again as he rounded the table. "I've got to go, Margret. People to see, places to burn, the usual." He kissed the top of her head and left before she could really object further. The whole thing left a bit of a sour taste in her mouth, especially when she realized that before, she never would have let him cut her off like that, and leave her alone.

He didn't even stay to escort her this time. It left a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach as she stood and left alone.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"What do you mean it's been stolen?" Molly asked into the phone. Jim had called her suddenly. It was quite unusual for him to call her outside of their normal arrangement.

"The pin's missing. One of the carriers has sticky fingers, and that damn woman in charge didn't keep good enough track of inventory." Jim was more than just a little angry. You can't just steal from a Moriarty and expect to get away with it. At least, that's what he taught her when she was little. Now, it seemed a bit silly. And worrying.

Molly sighed. "Maybe there was some type of mistake." She suggested.

Jim just snorted his opinion of her poorly brought forth idea. "Yes, it was a mistake, by an imbecilic greedy-fingered cretin. Someone's going to die for this one."

He seemed to be speaking to himself, but it still caused her to frown. "That's a bit -" extreme. Not that Jim heard her, over his own talking.

"I'll have a word with the underlings. Sit tight Margret, it's nothing for you to worry about anyway. I'll have the pin for you." He said it with such glee. Molly didn't have a chance to try to dissuade him before he hung up.

"But... I don't really want a hairpin..." she sighed. He didn't hear her words anyway. The dial tone was already beeping in her ear. It happened more and more often that he ignored her.

She hung up the phone.

No doubt, if the Black Lotus alone didn't get Sherlock's attention, then the inevitable bodies would.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"It was about a week later, when the first man was brought into the morgue." Molly said in a soft voice. "I don't even remember his name anymore, but I recognized the symbol on his ankle from something Jimmy showed me one day. It made me realize -"

"You showed me their feet."

Molly frowned slightly at Sherlock's interruption. "What?"

"You showed me their feet, knowing that would allow me to solve the case. You could have said no. Why didn't you?" It was another of those demanding questions, once he wouldn't let her move on from until she answered it. She sighed.

"That's easy Sherlock... I let you see the feet because..."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"What are you thinking - pork or the pasta?"

Molly nearly jumped out of her skin, until she saw him. Her heart gave an all too real flutter. "Oh, it's you!" Her voice sounded high even to her. She knew he'd pick it out. She felt her cheeks flush.

He wasn't really looking at her though, still focused on the food for some reason. "I suppose it's never going to trouble Egon Ronay, is it?" A rhetorical question, but she had to drop her gaze for a moment before looking up. He was still talking. "I'd stick with the pasta. Wouldn't be doing roast pork. Not if you're slicing up cadavers."

The last word just rolled off his tongue. She had no clue why that word sounded so much more enticing when he said it.  _Probably something wrong with that thought._

"What are you having?" She asked, trying to not make a fool of herself.

"Don't eat when I'm working. Digesting slows me down."

Molly frowned slightly.  _Oh._  "So you're working here tonight?" Of course he wouldn't be here just to say hi. Sherlock Holmes didn't do something so human. Silly man.

"I need to examine some bodies." Of course he did. Typical. It hurt her heart a bit. Oh well.

"Some?"

"Eddie Van Coon and Brian Lukis."

Molly looked down at the clipboard in her hands, pursing her lips slightly. "They're on my list." She said softly. And they were part of Jimmy's Black lotus things. She should tell him no, then.

"Could you wheel them out again for me?" Molly was certain he'd purposely made his voice deeper. He knew what it did to her. So wrong. He was such a manipulative arse.

_Just say no, Molly. You can do it._

"Well... their paperwork's already gone through."

There was a slight pause. She heard the click of his tongue, and knew she was done for.

"You changed your hair."

"What?"

"The style—it's usually parted in the middle." Oh gosh.  _He actually stuttered over it. No, just ignore it Molly._

"Yes, well..."

"No it's good. It suits you better this way." He smiled as he said it.

_Dammit Molly._

She couldn't stop the smile as she turned around.

Jim would understand. It was all about being up pretenses after all... right?

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"... because Margret Moriarty was dying inside me. All of the hate, and confusion, and stubbornness and pride I had as a Moriarty was dying. And as she started to fade, all that was left was Molly Hooper, and she was irrevocably in love with you, despite everything. Despite all of your cruel words, and all the times you used and insulted her, she still loved you, and would always help you if you asked." Molly swallowed, closing her eyes as she continued. She didn't want to see the doubt, disbelief, and disgust in Sherlock's eyes.

"I can't tell you when She died. Only that she's been dead a very long time. Margret Moriarty is dead. Molly Hooper's still alive. She's me. That's all that's left now. And that's why."

Molly held in the tears, though she felt like she wanted to cry. She might not have her pride as a Moriarty anymore, but she still had her pride as Molly Hooper, and she would not cry in front of him again. Not about this. Not when he was looking at her like this, like she was something to be loathed, some confused viper waiting to strike.

She missed Margret sometimes. Maybe then she could hate him again.


	5. The Great Deception

Sherlock was silent for the longest time. Molly didn't want to break it. She lowered her head, shut her eyes, and waited. John, likewise, seemed at a loss for words.

The ticking of the clock on the wall was the only sound that filled the flat for several minutes.

"The Great Game."

Sherlock's words sent a pulse through the room with their weight.

Molly swallowed and raised her gaze back to him. "I suppose you want me to explain that."

Sherlock nodded. He sat stiffly, his sharp, penetrating stare averted. He had decided to not comment on her words, though the sheer blankness of his face showed just how hard he was pondering them as Molly began.

"It was Jim's idea..."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"You can't be serious Jim!"

It was less than a month after Sherlock had pieced together the Black Lotus incident. Jim was still sore about losing the investment he'd made helping them, and he was even more sore that Sherlock had found that damned pin before he could, but this, this idea was simply preposterous, challenging Sherlock outright.

Her brother merely cocked his eyebrow, a sickly sweet grin spreading across his lips. "Why not? It'll be fun. Besides it'll prove my point exactly."

Margret just shook her head. "It's insane, Jim. What if he catches on, sees through your disguise?"

"He won't."

"How can you be so sure?" she challenged. A small part of her mind was worried about his failing, she admitted. But another part, a much bigger one, was more worried about her own cover being blown. Or... perhaps about her life being thrown upside down by the cover that had become her life. She wasn't really sure which anymore.

"Because he hasn't seen through yours. He won't care about some silly IT worker." His smile turned mischievous. "But he will care about the IT worker dating his pathologist."

Margret rolled her eyes. "He doesn't care about me, Jim. He only cares about his work. And John." Her voice softened a bit. John was a decent enough man, but thinking of him... hurt, just a bit. It was obvious how much the two men cared about each other, even if Sherlock was about ten times less likely to show it.

They didn't care about each other in the romantic sense, of course, considering John spoke of a different date almost every time he came into the lab, and Sherlock... just didn't do relationships, but they had a strong bond of friendship that she was jealous of.

She'd known Sherlock for years, helped him for years, and he didn't care about her at all. It stung her pride a bit.

Shaking herself from her thoughts, Margret again shook her head. "It still doesn't make sense. What if he notices that we look alike?"

"Brown hair and brown eyes is the most common combination. He'll mark it up to coincidence. Besides, the thought of us being siblings won't cross his mind. He doesn't let the simple, obvious solutions in. He always has to look for the most complicated possibility." Jim sounded like he was talking about a petulant child, and not a grown man who'd already outsmarted a few of his plans. Sherlock Holmes was a dangerous man, no doubt about it.

But Jim was right. Not once had she ever seen Sherlock Holmes try the simplest explanation first. It was his most prominent fault, aside from his lack of emotions towards all but a very select few people.

Still, the whole thing just didn't sit right with her.

"It doesn't matter anyway. I've already got a job at Bart's." His mischievous grin was back. "Look at the bright side, you'll get to spend even more time with me now, just like you wanted."

As he strode out of her flat - he'd decided that since they were going to play this game, it was all right for him to come directly to the flat once or twice - she felt her stomach roll as she realized just how much she didn't want to spend time with him.

Because Molly Hooper's heart may have been hurt time and again, but it still ached to help and protect Sherlock Holmes, and Jim's plan was to hurt him, and his friends.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Of course, you know what happened after, he came in disguised as Jim from IT, had his fun, left, and caused all the mess. Simple, really."

"You're lying." Sherlock's eyes were narrowed as they turned back to her again. Molly froze slightly, waiting. She swallowed, but didn't say a word.

Sherlock, growing irritated, snapped. "As if you didn't have anything to do with the explosion across the street, and it was  _your_ handwriting on the envelope that contained the replica pink phone as well, wasn't it? I knew it was a female's handwriting, but I never bothered to identify it, as it was unimportant. You'd also changed some of the basic markers of your handwriting, but no one, not even you,  _Margret,_ can fully change it, even when writing with your less used hand. Oh yes, I know you're ambidextrous, though you favor your right hand. You used your left on the letter. So, how about instead of ghosting over everything, you tell the truth, because by now you should know that I can tell when you're lying and I'm in no mood to humor you with feigned ignorance."

His words came out as a harsh sneer, leaving Molly to lower her gaze.

As John glanced between the two, his lips were set in a hard line, the creases around his eyes and on his forehead more pronounced, making him look several years older than he actually was. His eyes were lined with mistrust, a wariness that Molly had never wanted to see in him.

She nodded slightly. Explaining things wouldn't fix things. It would only make things worse. But she owed them both that much. Owed Sherlock that much.

"You're right, of course... Once Jimmy started everything in motion... once he let me be a part of the operation again... I fell right back into place. I missed working with him. I missed the... thrill of being a part of things, of helping him. He is family after all. Family sticks together when you're raised like I was." she took a deep breath. "I didn't set up the bomb, but I told them when a safe time to put it in would be." She looked up at Sherlock, meeting his eyes even as he glared daggers at her. "It was when you collected the head. You were preoccupied at Bart's with me, and John was with Sarah. There was no one paying attention to a simple old, unused flat. Jim was working at Bart's by then, so it was only a matter of time before you came in and he decided to introduce himself."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

They had it arranged. Margret -  _No, Molly. I'm At Bart's, so it's Molly. -_  was to go into the lab to help Sherlock, as usual, and Jim would follow her in, the sweet boyfriend visiting his girlfriend and meeting an idol. Sherlock would ignore him, and Molly would huff at Sherlock's rudeness. That was how things were  _supposed_ to go.

Her bloody brother never was good at following rules.

Molly walked in as the search on the computer finished. She'd left the boys to it just minutes earlier. Well, she'd started the search for them an hour ago, and was promptly shooed away until the results beeped her back in.

"Any luck?" Her voice was high pitched, as it tended to be when she came into contact with Sherlock. It was simply embarrassing, the lack of control she seemed to have over her own voice.

Of course, it didn't seem to even register with Sherlock, his excited "Oh yes!" being his only words before Jim came in, just steps behind her. Molly barely held back her frown. He was supposed to wait a few minutes so it wasn't so obvious. But then, Jim didn't seem to want subtle, if his stumbling words were anything to go by as he entered.

"Oh sorry, I didn't -" He was acting the fool, of course, so Molly continued with the greeting and introduction as Jim so dearly wanted. Even at the risk to her livelihood.

Her voice was high as she held in the urge to snap at him for his recklessness.

"Jim - Hi! Come in, come in!" Of course, she was also playing a fool, wasn't see? Introducing her boyfriend - brother, but still, they were playing romantic partners at the moment - to her crush to prove a point. "Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes." She paused for just a moment, allowing Sherlock to - obviously - ignore Jim, and for Jim to get his first close up taste of the Consulting Detective. Molly glanced to John. "And uh... sorry?"

It was a bit ridiculous. Of course she knew his name. They hadn't even planned for this slight, but something in her wanted it, the cruel, envious part of her. The part that sometimes wondered how Sherlock would react if he knew that she was just as much of a sharpshooter as his blogger. That she could kill just as easily as John had. That she wasn't the weak woman she portrayed.

Or was she? It was so hard to tell now...

Her head ached a bit as John, a bit put off, introduced himself. "John Watson, hi."

Jim barely passed a glance at John, muttering a quick hi before his attention was back on Sherlock. Well, the back of his head, since he couldn't be bothered to raise it from the damn microscope.

"So you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. Are you on one of your cases?" Jim circled to Sherlock's other side, moving away from Molly as he did so, and seemed to pause so he could look at whatever Sherlock was working on. Molly guessed that he was actually checking to see how far Sherlock was in his case, the bombings. Molly didn't fully agree with this particular plan, but she didn't say anything against it. After all, Margret wouldn't have minded.

Again, she wondered which was the fake, Margret, or Molly. Who was more real?

Jim gave her a look, shaking her from her thoughts so she could spit out the rest of the awkward play."Jim works in IT upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance." Molly let out a soft giggle as Jim did, a joke between just the two of them at her words. Office romance. Ha.

"Gay."

Molly barely kept in the scowl, though a look at Jim's face said he was amused, had even intended it. "Sorry, what?"  _Bastard._

"Nothing. Um, hey." Sherlock's horrible sham of a recovery wasn't nearly as impressive as Jim's subsequent 'accidental' dropping of a pan, which was sitting entirely too far away from the edge of the table for its being knocked over to have been anything but on purpose.

Idiots, both of them.

Still, Jim muttered quick apologies under Sherlock's scrutinizing gaze as he bent to retrieve the pan.

And, Molly noted, slip something under it as he put it back onto the counter. Her eyes narrowed just slightly, questioningly, but Jim didn't reply, staying in character as he babbled out an apology and rounded back to Molly.

His hand lingered on her upper back for just a moment as he arranged their 'date' for the evening. The arrogant prig was telling Sherlock when their next meeting was. She could have slapped him as she squeaked out her response, forcing her tone to stay light.

Sherlock of course ignored Jim dismissing him entirely in favor of the slide in front of him. At least John was more polite, if nothing else.

Molly swallowed as Jim left with another smile to Sherlock. Besotted idiot. He really did find this whole ordeal entirely too amusing.

"What do you mean gay? We're together." At least, that was the game they currently played.

Of course, Sherlock couldn't resist spouting out a stream of exactly  _why_ Jim from IT was gay and  _why_ she should break it off as fast as possible to 'save herself the pain.' Ignorant arse. _  
_

Until her eyes fell onto the little note Sherlock waved in front of her like a bloody war flag. Oh, it was definitely a set of ten digits arranged in the pattern of a phone number.

In fact, it  _was_ a phone number. Just not the fake one Jim had said he would be giving.

_That utter bastard._

She'd kill him.

It took all she had to storm from the room still in character, still acting the upset girlfriend, when all she wanted was to find her brother and send him to an early grave for his arrogance.


	6. Locked On Target

"Whose phone number was it then?"

"Hers obviously. Do pay attention, John."

Though John's question was clearly directed at Molly, Sherlock couldn't help the snide comment, earning a glare from the ex-military man.

"Sherlock bloody Holmes -"

"He's right," Molly said, stopping the argument before it could start.

"Of course I was."

Molly pressed her lips together, and exhaled slowly. She could practically feel him regressing back into the cold, untrusting man he once was. And it was her fault.

"The number was for my private line - the one that only Jimmy knew, and untraceable. I was... angry when I saw it. He was taking so many risks, risking his life, risking mine, risking the life I'd made for myself -"

"That  _Moriarty_ made for you."

The correction stung, as did the way Sherlock sneered her brother's name. The way he said it made it resonate to everything connected to the name as well. Including her.

She took another breath and continued.

"His stupid schemes were getting out of hand. I  _never_  agreed with strapping a bomb to innocent people like that, people who hadn't agreed to it beforehand."

"So, some of them had?" John. Molly looked towards him. It was easier to talk to him than Sherlock. At least John, while wary of her now, didn't look at her with scorn.

She nodded. "Yes..." She frowned. "Mostly."

"As in?"

"They agreed to assist Moriarty in exchange for some form of payment. The woman was in debt when Moriarty approached her with a proposition, the details of which were vague, hence why the woman sounded so terrified during the call. She wasn't aware the assistance included having a live bomb strapped to her. Am I correct,  _Margaret_?"

Molly visibly flinched at Sherlock's contemptuous, mocking tone. She nodded. "Yes. The man at the intersection was in a similar situation..."

"The child and the blind old woman, however, were not."

Molly shook her head. "No." She took a pause, not wwanting to continue, but knowing she had to. "That poor boy was just some child Jim had one of his men snatch from a park. He said he thought it would be fun - watching you squirm to try to save the child. He expected you to fail."

"Because of my limited knowledge of astronomy."

Molly nodded even though it was a statement rather than a question. "I didn't know that until later... didn't realize that Jim would actually do something like that."

"I'm sure there are several things that your darling brother did that you have no idea of." Even as Sherlock said it, his eyes narrowed a small fraction, from simply sneering to observing. Molly looked away from his gaze. "And several things that you  _did_  know about and had a very active role in."

Suddenly he was leaning forward, fully assessing her. "You were at the pool."

John, who'd been somewhat apprehensive with Sherlock's questions and comments, was staring at Molly now too, waiting.

Molly kept her head held high. "I was."

"But not as just a spectator." Sherlock's eyes were little more than slits, glaring daggers at her. "Who?"

"Who what?"

"Playing stupid, Margaret. It's annoying. I know you've been trained with long range weapons. You've said as much, though you equated it to hunting trips with your father as a child. But no, you learned from your dealings with your brother. Moriarty would have only trusted a handful of people to point weapons in his vicinity, and who better to trust than his own flesh and blood murderess of a sister? Now,  _who were you aimed at?"_

Molly looked down at her hands folded down in her lap. She really hadn't wanted him to catch on to this. She wasn't sure he would forgive her for this. But both men were waiting for her answer, and there was nothing she could do but tell the truth. She had nothing else to give now.

"I was aimed at..."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Margaret, I've got something very important for you to do."

Her hand flew to her chest, and she turned to face her brother only when she could scowl properly at him. "Bloody hell Jim, how many times have I told you - Something for me to do?" Her initial angry train of though was cut off as his words registered. Jim just... didn't ask her to do things anymore. Then she spotted a large rectangular clasp box by his feet.

She recognized it immediately. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Why do you have that?"

Jim smiled so sweetly as he patted the container. "Come on Marg, haven't you missed her?"

Even as he said it, She could almost feel the cold metal against her hands as she set up the stand, took aim, and fired at a man who had, at one point, tried to undermine Jim's authority in the criminal network. That had been almost eight years ago. Shortly after, She'd begun her assimilation as Molly Hooper. And Molly Hooper didn't own a sniper rifle, so Jim had taken it from her.

She swallowed.

Jim smirked, knowing her answer even without a response.

"Sherlock and I have arranged a little date, you see, and there's no one I'd trust more to guard my back than you, sister dearest."

Years flashed before her eyes in an instant, of all the times that she had done this very thing for Jim. Sometimes she didn't have to pull the trigger. Sometimes she did. It was all the same to her, as long as it meant her brother was safe. He was all she had left.

Or, all she used to have left.

_What do I have now?_

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

And damn it all if she didn't blame Sherlock Holmes for everything. For interfering with her brother's schemes, for trying to solve Carl Powers' murder, for treating her like a bloody servant in her own bloody lab, every single thing wrong with her life, all because of him.

Jim was the only one she had. Of course she would protect him.

"Just tell me when, where, and who my target is."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Molly assembled her rifle, allowing a calm to enter her body. Sitting atop the roof of a building close to the pool, she would have one of the best views of the area where the meeting would take place.

The cold metal against the palms of her hands matched the numb that settled over her.

Over and over, she reviewed what Jim had told her.

Her target, not the obvious choice, but the clear higher threat to Jim.

"Holmes is entering the building."

The voice came from a walkie talky, clipped to her belt. Jim's right hand man, Sebastian Moran. She'd met him a few times. He looked... almost cute. Definitely not what you'd expect of an ex-special-forces with a dishonorable discharge and a criminal record a mile long. He was a good man though, a trustworthy one, a great soldier and an excellent ally if he owed you a few favors. And he owed the Moriarty name several of them.

In truth, it was only she and Moran taking aim tonight, but several decoy were set up as well, all controlled by a main computer run by another of Jim's men. Jim only trusted so many people with guns pointed in his vicinity.

She took a deep breath in, held it for a moment, and exhaled slowly.

Time to start.

Though she couldn't hear anything, she saw Sherlock enter through her scope. Then John.

Her aim stayed true on her target as Jim entered the scene as well.

She almost pulled the trigger, just once, as Sherlock pulled his gun and John wrapped his arms around Jim's neck.

A quick motion from Jim had her pause the shot.

Lucky for John.

She never missed.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Me?!" John exclaimed. "Why was I the target? I had a bomb strapped to me! Sherlock had the bloody gun!"

Sherlock was simply staring. Well, glaring.

Molly chose not to look at him as she answered John's question.

"You were the target I was assigned to because you were the bigger threat to Jim." She put her hand up to stop John's coming remark, "Let me explain. Jim... He believed that Sherlock and he were one and the same. Two sides of a coin. Both bored with their existences, both looking for something interesting, and each finding that interesting thing in the other. Jim knew Sherlock wouldn't kill him because he was too fascinated by the crimes. You though, you would. You would kill Jim, even at the cost of your own life. You proved that the day you took that bullet to save your friend's life in the field, and the day you shot Hope. You would kill for Sherlock, because he was your friend. So, you were the bigger threat." She shrugged weakly. She kept John's gaze as she explained, watched a sort of wary understanding form, watched the color drain slightly from his face, watched the way his expression and his posture tightened up, protective, defensive. Captain John Watson sat in the room now, not just John. Not anymore.

"Would you have shot me? Had Moriarty not signaled you not to?" She wondered what was on his mind when he asked. If he was thinking about Mary, of their daughter, and of everything he would have lost had she killed him that day.

"Yes." There was no hesitation, no remorse, in her reply. Just an answer, cold and precise.

"Get out."

She looked towards Sherlock, finally. the anger in his eyes burned through her, but she kept her face blank.

There was a short pause, as the they sat in silence, waiting for the first move.

John didn't tell Sherlock to shut up this time. Didn't tell her to stay seated.

Sighing softly, Molly stood. Without help, she groaned slightly as she did so, placing her right hand over her stomach to steady herself. Neither of the men reached to help her. She wasn't sure if she expected them to or not, but it still stung inside that they didn't.

"I don't want any news of  _that_ either," Sherlock sneered.

For the first time in a long time, Molly felt anger towards Sherlock. Real, murderous, anger, as she glared at him. "You can belittle me. You can glare and sneer and mock me as much as you like. You can curse my name and my brother's name for all eternity. I don't care. But you will  _not_ disrespect him, Sherlock. He's innocent, and he's  _your bloody son too._ "

Molly thought she saw Sherlock flinch, but she didn't stay around long enough to figure out for certain.

The door to 221B Baker's Street slammed behind her.


	7. The Journal

_Jan - 13_

_It's been a long day of unpacking. Jimmy's really been a help - even if I don't really want to do this. It's Sherlock Bloody Holmes' fault. But I suppose I'm getting ahead of myself. I thought it might be a good idea to start keeping a journal. Jimmy doesn't know I'm going to. He'd probably consider it a risk, but I don't get to do much else anymore, and this should be fun. I'll be able to vent, and I know I'll need it a lot now._

_Anyway, I've settled into the apartment. It's... quaint. I miss the estate. I haven't been there since before Uni, aside from a few short visits. I was too busy with my studies. I have a cat now. He's such a sweet boy, and I'm sure he'll help keep me sane._

_I start work tomorrow. Jimmy says to expect Holmes' in, so I'll get to meet him._

_Fingers crossed everything goes to plan._

_You can do this Margret!_

_\- M. Moriarty_

_... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..._

_Jan - 14_

_~~Sherlock Holmes is the most ignorant, pig headed, higher-than-thou son of a~~ _ _Language, Margret. He's not worth it, not even on paper. Jimmy was right. I did meet Sherlock Holmes at Bart's today. He barged right in with my boss, and he didn't even have the manners to shake my hand when I offered it in greeting! I mean, sure, I don't like him - I hate him - but he could at least have some bloody manners!_

 _He completely ignored me, in fact, until it was time for me to go. The_ _~~bastard~~ _ _~~arsehole~~_ _jerk had the gall to flirt with me to get me to stay after hours so he could finish his experiments - which solved Jimmy's latest murder, damn it all!_ _~~If anything happens to my brother because of that bastard, I don't care what happens to me, I'll stab him in the eye with my scalpel and~~ _ _I really need to learn to control my temper... Even if this is a place to vent, Molly doesn't have these feelings. She has the sweetest little crush on Sherlock. And if I'm to play her for any extended period of time, I should definitely learn to do better._

_Anyway, he left and left his mess there for me to clean up! I had to stay behind at work another three hours! I only just got home... I need a shower, and I need to sleep. I've got another day at Bart's tomorrow. Won't that be fun?_

_\- M. Moriarty_

_... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..._

_Jan -19_

_It's been a busy last few days. I haven't seen Sherlock since last time. I would call Jim, but he'd busy with another of his operations, and I can't know anything because of my position. I feel like a secret agent, honestly! I suppose that's one good thing about this charade. I get to be a pathologist and hone my guile. It's truly amazing how -_

_... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ..._

_Jan - 28_

_I'm a horrible Journal keeper. Oh well._

_He came in again today. Ignored me the entire time, and then left four hours into my shift. Screw censoring myself, that bloody bastard needs to -_

_… … … … … … … … … … …_

_Jan – 31_

_Jimmy and I –_

_… … … … … … … … … …_

_Feb – 14_

_This is supposed to be a nice time of love, why the hell did that bugger have to –_

_… … … … … … … … …_

_Feb – 27_

_No progress so far with getting even slightly close to him. Jimmy says to be patient, but –_

_… … … … … … … … …_

_March – 16_

_Had another meeting with Jimmy, apparently he’s got something fun planned, won’t tell me what though. I haven’t got much today, haven’t seen Sherlock in almost two weeks. Finally, some peace and quiet in the morgue._

_\- M. Moriarty_

_… … … … … … … …_

_April – 3_

_Sherlock couldn’t solve this one. I find a smug bit of glee for that. My brother’s much smarter, of course Sherlock wouldn’t be able to solve it, now if only things could get underway so we can just kill him already so he’s no longer a threat to us. I’m so tired of –_

_… … … … … … … …_

_June – 21_

_If I have to fetch one more bloody cup of coffee, I’m going to dump it over his head. I hope it’s hot enough to scald off those pretty curls of his._

_I bet he perms._

_\- M. Moriarty_

_… … … … … … … … …_

_Oct – 31_

_I love Halloween. It’s so much fun. Dressing up to be something you’re not. But then, I’ve been doing that for several months now._

_I think I’ll ask Jimmy to let me get involved with one of his schemes. The monotony of the lab gets boring, even with the bugger coming in every week or so to much things up._

_I think he’d got an interesting heist going on, and he knows I’m a good pretend hostage… plus, it won’t be dangerous for my cover, since it happens occasionally, right? I just went to the bank at the wrong time._

_It’ll give me practice._

_I’ll ask him tomorrow, since we’re meeting anyway._

_\- M. Moriarty._

_… … … … … … … … …_

_Nov – 10_

_The heist was a failure._

_A certain bloody consulting detective tipped off Scotland Yard. How did he even figure out the pattern?_

_He even had the audacity to show up at the heist as another staged hostage! I don’t even think he realized I was there though, he was too busy picking out Jimmy’s men._

_Bloody bastard. There went my fun._

_\- M. Moriarty_

_… … … … … … … …_

He remembered that day, very clearly.

He had spotted her there, but he hadn't cared. It was about the case, not the morgue worker with an infatuation with him.

How had he missed the signs?

… … … … …. … … …

_Dec - 25_

_A nice peaceful Christmas. Thank bloody hell for that._

_\- M. Moriarty_

_… … … … … … … … …_

Sherlock had been reading through Margret’s journal for the better part of an evening, though he only skimmed over or skipped several of the entries, simply because they read much the same for the entire first year that he’d just completed.

She was very thorough. There was an entry nearly every day. Several of them cursed his name while praising the madness of Moriarty. But then, it was written by a Moriarty, as every ending sign off showed. A second sick and twisted mind for the name to bear.

In the second year of entries, which he skimmed through, it was still much the same, though the entries dwindled down to once a week, every Wednesday. Most of the entries were dull, though a few of them raised memories of a past case that had not been linked to Moriarty, but one caught his interest. It was dated for October of 2009, before he met John, but not by much. He read this one in earnest.

… … … … … … … … …

_Oct – 7_

_I think Jimmy’s given up on me ever getting Sherlock’s interest. I’ve been at this a few years now… and I’m little more than a coffee girl and a maid. You know, he snapped at me today for knocking over a beaker – that he’d set by my elbow on the table without telling me – and I apologized for it. On instinct. It wasn’t because I had to. I’m a bit scared as to what that means._

_But nevermind that. It’s probably nothing. I’ll tell him to piss off next time._

_Jimmy invited me to meet an interesting person today after work. His name was Jefferson Hope. Poor man, he obviously has a brilliant mind, but it’s wasted driving a cab. He’s got two kids. Their mum doesn’t let him see them, but the odd man doesn’t want her dead. Says his kids need a mum. Funny, she doesn’t think they need a dad. I don’t like her, and I’ve never met her._

_He wants the best for his kids. I can understand that. Well… no I can’t really. Jimmy and my parents never cared about us, and both were long gone before it really mattered. We offered him a deal. One million dollars for every person he murdered, so he could give something to his kids when he died._

_For a second, I honestly thought he would turn it down. Then he smiled. You know what he said? It was quite the quote. “You don’t make much, driving cabs.” Isn’t that interesting? Well, not in that sense, of course cabbies don’t make much. But the sense of it. Well, I found it interesting. And Hope had the most brilliant idea._

_He would have them commit suicide. Two pills, both laced with poison, but he’d build up immunity to it. He would give them the choice of both pills. If they refused to take the pills, then he’d show them the third option, a pistol. But it’s not an actual pistol! It’s one of those lighter pistols. That’s the key. The only way to leave alive. If they chose the gun rather than the pills, they could leave. It truly was brilliant. Jimmy and I endorsed it, of course._

_Wow, I’ve been writing quite a while. Best be off to bed. I’m sure I’ll have lovely dreams tonight, as long as that prick doesn’t invade them again._

_\- M. Moriarty_

_… … … … … … … …_

“Bloody Hell Sherlock, put the damned journal down!”

Sherlock’s head jolted up at John’s words. Rather than stay at his own flat, he’d kipped on John and Mary’s couch for the last week. It had taken him that long to give into temptation. That, and John’s scowling whenever he saw it in his hands. He scowled at his friend’s interruption of his reading. “Why?”

“Because she’s your bloody wife, and you should trust her?” It came out as a question, a suggestion, and Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

“One who has intended to kill me for years, John. Just because you had the idiocy to throw away Mary’s USB stick does not mean I will do the same. And besides, _you_ didn’t ask her to stay either.”

John looked away in shame at that. It’s true, he let Sherlock tell Molly to leave, but he… well, he was shocked. One of his friends had pointed a gun at him, with every intention of pulling the trigger at the word of a mad man. But he didn’t believe Molly mad. Just… lost. And she was a different person now. He believed that.

“She’s pregnant, Sherlock. And, right now, staying at a hotel room waiting for you to come to her, because she won’t come to you. She doesn’t think she deserves that – “

“She doesn’t.”

John growled in frustration. “She’s changed, Sherlock. Mary’s no longer a gun for hire, and she’s no longer a –“

“A what, John? Because she is and will always be a Moriarty. Is she no longer a psychotic woman who finds interest in murder?”

“ _You_ find interest in murder, you cock!”

Sherlock’s only response was to scowl, drone John out, and continue reading.

He was fairly certain he heard a ‘Bloody twat’ muttered under the army doctor’s breath before a door slammed. The good Doctor seemed intent on a stroll. Good. He’d be left alone to read.

Or not.

Mary came into the room then and sat down in one of the chairs. She didn’t say a word. She just stared at him as he stared at the page without actually reading, because he was too focused on focusing on her without actually looking at her.

He could practically hear her smile as she spoke. “Put the journal down, Sherlock. I think you and I need to have a talk, while John’s out. Just a talk, I promise, because I think I know what Molly’s –“

“Margret.”

Mary didn’t even miss a beat. “- what _Molly’s_ going through.”

He didn’t fight as she took the journal from his hands and set it on the table. She even saved his space with a bit of scrape paper.

And then she began.


End file.
